


Settle the Score

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Infertility, dark!Hvitserk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: Everyone always sees Hvitserk as their dog. Not just Ivar-- but her too. He grows sick of it when she reveals something that he always suspected.





	1. Chapter 1

He was his brothers’s dog.

“Hvitserk will go, won’t you?”

Hvitserk always went where Ubbe– no, now Ivar sent him. Ivar always sent him to clean up the messes that were left. Assassinate this one or the other while he had the foothold in Kattegat. Fuck him. Fuck him and fuck Sigurd for leaving him alone with him. He chugs down a ale that tasted more like glorified piss. Probably the equivalent of his little brother, and his big brother, pissing down his throat like they did his whole fucking life.

“What?” He burps, clearing his throat of the sear. Ivar sits on their father’s throne– because it was really never rightfully Lagertha’s or his– and barks an order at him.

“Your Queen wants to go see her sister’s wedding. You’ll take her.” Ivar motions to his sweet little wife. (Y/N) is a sweet thing. You always have him in your heart during Yule, sewing him the sweetest tunics and checking his wounds after he comes back for being ran around. Yeah, you’re beautiful alright. Beautiful, gentle and Ivar’s queen, despite the times he attempted to claim you as his own little princess. He loved you— once upon a time. The way you tasted on his tongue. Those stupid glowbright smiles that you were affording him right this very second. So yeah, maybe fuck you too for buying into his brother’s lies. You would be a womb for Ivar.

“Yeah,” He brings a refilled cup of ale to his lips. “Sure.”

So days later, he was finishing the load on the boat with his other men. Everything was set to go. Hvitserk was tight in his brown tunic, thick furs draped over his shoulder while Ivar saw you off with a warm kiss. Your giggles felt like nails down his back. The creaking sway of the boat is maddening– and he finds himself glaring off into the distance until he’s faced with the sight of muddled purple, nearly black. The seer.

His soulless face bores in his direction and despite the grafts of wrinkled skin over his eyes, he wears a look of discomfort when Hvitserk helps her into the boat. As they set out of Kattegat by oar alone, Hvitserk plops beside you. You’re nestled in Ivar’s thick furs, hair draping over your neck.

“Hvitserk?” You ask silken sweet. You make it a point to flutter your lashes at him. The wild racing of his heart burning in dark envy for his brother.

He grunts, bringing a peach to his lips. “What?”

“I was wondering.” You sit up. “Do you… have any issues with your…” You drop off, poking the swing of his tunic that sits in his lap. You poked his soft dick. Why would you touch him? Did you miss it? He looks down to his cock as if the humiliation of Hvitserk marching his ass through the Great Hall months ago wasn’t humiliating enough.

“Dick?” He finishes. “No… I don’t.” But then a thought hits him. “Does he?”

He speaks so openly that you thrust your hand upon Hvitserk’s mouth, tickled by the honey coloured fibers of his moustache.

“Um… no it… it’s just.” You stumble over your words.

“What?” He grunts past your fingers.

“He can’t impregnate me.” You whisper low enough, folding your hands over your empty stomach. His lips finally churn a wide smile. But of course he couldn’t impregnate you. There was a reason that you hadn’t had the baby that you often blessed in other households. Until this point, Ivar had been clear. The wars needed to settle before he would have sons or daughters.

But the truth was: the gods didn’t love him that much. Hvitserk’s lips clearly display the pleasure he’s getting from that knowledge.

“Poor Ivar.”

Hvitserk knew a woman in need when he saw one.

Today was the day of your sister’s wedding. You had been helping all week with the necessities. Like a good brother-in-law, he acted like your stand in husband. Baring the heavy items for you, being the good man to treat you like the queen he always saw you as.

Your dress today was a beautiful, deep red. It matched the furs over your neck and the bright smile that glittered on your lips day to day. He loiters behind you, his hands at your waist. You were attempting to put on a gold necklace and having little luck with doing so. Your hands were trembling around the little clasp until he swipes it from you.

“It goes like this.” Hvitserk remarks, sliding your hair onto one shoulder. The golden garnet encrusted necklace swoops against your neck, fitting tightly around your throat.

“Oh, thank you…” You say, expecting that he would drop his hand from your neck.

But instead, it snakes around your throat, clenching you tight. Puffs of air escape when you gasp and Hvitserk tugs your back against his chest. “Please… Hvitserk…” Your hand snaps to his forearm.

“I warned you about him.” Hvitserk forces your cheek in his direction by a small knife, meant to carve apples, digging against your jawline.

“That was a long time ago, Hvitserk.” You whimper, pushing your ass out as if to fight against him. You only meet the bulge in his pants that shamelessly grinds up against you. Hvitserk waddles you back into a hard wooden table, turning you and shoving you upon it.

“It feels like yesterday to me…” Hvitserk trills into your ear. The knife leaves your cheek, embedding in the wooden table. “Yesterday I was eating your wet little cunt out in the forest, then the next thing I know, you want Ivar.”

“That! That isn’t how it went.” You exclaim. “I love my husband.”

“I always thought you loved who fucked you the best.” Hvitserk shoves you back with a thud, wrestling the skirts above your ass.

“That! That’s not true!” You exclaim. You might be desperate to flee, but with Hvitserk, he was trained with your typical struggles against his person. After all, when you were about to cum, you always did contort.

“Prove me wrong, princess.” The pad of his thumb slides down the slit of your pussy lips, coating down in thick placid fluid. Failure. Your cheeks heat up when Hvitserk’s fingers shove to the knuckle within your soaked cunt. You shriek a beautiful noise– and Hvitserk hates himself for reveling in it as he drags your hips back. His tongue mercilessly attacking the warm folds that ooze over the table where your sister normally sat to eat.

You squeal in pleasure, throwing your head back along the heavy wood as he rolls his tongue over your clitoris, swirling the little nub over and over again. His thick fingers spread you wide open, juices sloshing over the oak. Hvitserk swipes his tongue from the fingers stuffed deep within your cunt, zigzagging up to your sensitive clitoris.

“The thing about breeding Ivar doesn’t understand is,” Hvitserk rumbles, curling his fingers against your contracting walls. “You have to cum.”

With no other words, he purses his lips against your engorged clit. His tongue flickers purposefully quick— interested in nothing else but ripping the orgasm right out from under you. As you feared it comes in hard, sharp waves. Your disobedient hips roll onto his cursed digits, pulses of fluid slipping from your cunt. Hvitserk pulls back and rolls his tongue over the hair over his lip. It tastes distinctly like you.

Your head rolls in shame upon the wood, staring at the antlers that hang above the table. A shy whisper slides off your lips. “Hvitserk?” You say as he tosses your skirts back over your knees.

“What?” He says, starting for the door.

“Do you think… you could do that again?”

A small, guiltless smile. Of course he could.


	2. Chapter II: Seriously?

You slept with him.

You whore– you slept with Hvitserk. Well, perhaps… no. It wasn’t sleeping with Hvitserk. You enjoyed his tongue. His tongue couldn’t possibly count if he did not seed you. It would be a secret you could bury. Keep away from Hvitserk Ragnarsson, clutch tightly to Ivar and pray to any of the gods that this did not come up again.

“(Y/N)! What is wrong with you?”

Your husband had noticed the change. You knew so by the sharp way he spoke to you, coming behind you with his toned arm snaking about your waist. You feign a small smile, shaking your head and looking down at him.

“Nothing, Ivar.” You turn to face him. Your hands drape across his shoulders. He looks at you with eyes half lidded, dark as the strands of his hair braided back into a long ponytail.

“Then why aren’t you listening?”

Understandable, you thought. Ivar had always been a man for an eye of changes. Sensing the areas where he could best take a move or how he might swipe something of his brother’s hand. In a way, you were no different. You fiddle with the garnet on your neck before sitting before him on the bed, reaching out for his gloved hands. Before you can speak, Ivar does it for you.

“You want a child.” Ivar says while drawing his gaze from you. He stares at the statue of Frigg in the back– guardian of marriage. He was a man of well-hounded instincts. Usually his would have been the case. Every month you would lament your failure to become pregnant by your husband’s seed. But this time…

“Ivar… I… its.” You struggle for the right words. Ivar snarls as he turns from you.

“It has been years. If the gods were going to bless us, they would have already.” He inclines his head. Your temporary abeyance is enough to tip him off of your pain. You can’t bare admit it– the truth. It’s heavy like weights on your lips.

“So I want you to lay with Hvitserk.”

Your spine stiffens as you stand and move closer to him. Your mind reverberates with the knowledge of what you have done in the past. The smile that would be seared on Hvitserk’s face from this. You cast a glance over to Ivar.

“I can’t lie with Hvitserk.” You say. “We could adopt.”

Ivar stiffens at the suggestion. “A woman should know the pleasure of being with child. I am a cripple. It is probably me.”

You say nothing knowing that it might very well be true.

“I want your children. But you are a free woman. A Queen.” He says. “I can’t make you do anything.”

You know he could only strongly suggest. The knowledge of the force if must have taken Hvitserk to come to this conclusion weighs your mind. Ivar had gone to seers, spoke to healers and took a great many medicines. You lapse around to face him, lacing your fingers with his gloved ones. You’re about to regret this.

“If when the child is born it will be yours alone… I’ll agree.”

Ivar’s smile stirs. It pains you to know just how wrong Ivar was– he wouldn’t really want your baby if he knew. If he only really knew.

* * *

It had been some time since Hvitserk managed to get your legs spread.

Satisfaction was like the sludge of honey thick down his throat. He was standing in your marital bedroom with Ivar. His little brother claimed he had something to speak to Hvitserk about with you. He was sure to bring his axe. His hands were over his sword as he stood confident and proud, head raised to some level with his brother’s tall wife fiddling with the bodice of her gown.

“Hvitserk, you came.” Ivar’s crutch clips the floors.

“Why wouldn’t I, brother?” Hvitserk turns in the direction of his young brother.

“You have good reason not to.” Ivar rests by your side, large hands encompassing your waist to unlace the strands you so protectively fiddle with. Hvitserk cocks his eyebrow, coursing his tongue across his premolars.

He can’t help himself. Another question.

“Why is that brother?” Hvitserk’s face begins to light up with every strand unlaced. There’s a certain gratification from your lovely head turned aside, hiding underneath soft, loose curls that tumble over your hips. Your cincher falls to the floorboards with a light thump. Ivar draws your skirts over creamy-soft legs, each inch drawing a brighter smile to his lips. Your legs slightly bend.

“Ivar…” He hears you say– and not for nothing, but Ivar hushes you by his lips sliding gleefully across yours. Hvitserk eats up the sight of your lips being far more timid in front of the oldest of the two brothers. The closed mouth kiss ends as soon as it began. Now you’re silent as he brings your two layers of gown up and over your head. You stand in nothing in the warm air, heated by the burning flame of the room.

“I want you to seed my wife.”

Boisterously, Hvitserk bounces forward. “You want me to cum in your wife?”

“You can do that, can’t you Hvitserk?”

Gleeful– another opportunity to gain a one up on his brother. Hvitserk shoves you back onto your shared marital bed with Hvitserk. It’s not been so long since he last saw your body– but never naked. That was a sight for husbands. Your smooth skin is tease enough, but nothing quite as arousing as your hands covering your mound, inadvertently pressing your breasts together. Hvitserk glances back up to his brother, loosening his belt.

“Of course I can, Ivar.”


End file.
